


NIO Aaron Hotchner

by paupotter_4869



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Bureau, CIA, FBI, Gen, late night conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:03:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupotter_4869/pseuds/paupotter_4869
Summary: Hotchner’s last day and Emily’s first day back at the Bureau. Based on the events on early season 12, though I stopped watching the show by season 9, so forgive any inaccuracies from changes that might have happened since then.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to and written for a dear friend of mine. 
> 
> Characters and story belong to CBS network.

 

Lailah Akita said: “Every stage of life is the foundation for the next stage of life.” 

 

It’s been years, but some things never change. That’s why she couldn’t explain her surprise when she steps into the floor expecting to be alone and sees one single desk lamp lit. Whereas every other agent’s been home for hours now catching their sleep, not a single phone ringing, computer turned on or fax machine printing a last-minute report or warrant, he’s still in, working quietly, without any kind of interruption, in his office. 

She drops her bag and wanders around the carpeted room, circling the desks, the chairs. The distribution of the place hasn’t changed either. Besides some technological updates concerning the computers, she could pretend easily she never left--and nothing would be different. Not even the decorative paintings on the walls, apart from a couple search-and-capture warrants hanging from the walls whom the team managed to capture at some point. 

Then she leans into one of the desks, arms crossed, for some reason not daring to bother him just yet, looking at Hotchner work for some long minutes. His stern and focused face, reading intently each sentence of the reports, making some annotations now and then, going over folder after folder without any apparent sign of boredom or tiredness, despite the hour. He could go on working for some hours yet and she wouldn’t mind staring at him doing so, if the situation wasn’t so damn embarrassing and didn’t violate ten different kinds of intimacy. 

Inhaling deeply, in a gigantic leap of strength, Emily straights and heads for the stairs leading to Hotch’s office. She doesn’t give herself more chances to chicken out of this imperative meeting and knocks on the door frame. 

Despite the hour, Hotch doesn’t seem startled at all by the knock as he quietly allows her to get in the office. Moreover, after she does, for some beats the man doesn’t even look away from his papers, until Emily stands before his desk, clears her throat uneasily but doesn’t say another word--and he sees she’s not here to report a case or some bad news and he does look up. 

“Emily,” he greets, surprised, smiling fondly at her. 

He drops the pen and checks the clock from the desk, as he raises from the chair to shake her hand, welcoming her in. 

“It’s 2 o’clock, how’d you know I’d be here?” he asks as the two sit down. 

“It’s 2 o’clock, where else would you be?” 

Hotch chuckles under his breath--a sound she’d feared she’d never hear again before he left. 

Although here's this piece of information she's left out that ends to fully explain her reasoning and the fact that she was not wrong: it's 2 o'clock in the morning and you're about to give up this office--where else would you be?

They stare at each other for some long seconds, just too comfortable to need to fill the silence with unnecessary politeness. Aside from the fact that neither of them wants to say out loud the answer to the obvious, painful question hovering them. So in the end Emily does something she’s not used to: stalling. 

“Tell me, is this true--Intelligence Officer? For the CIA?” she asks, leaning in her chair. 

Hotch drops his gaze, clearly wishing to return to his work--which doesn’t usually answer back or bother him in the way Emily is right now. 

“Maybe. For now,” he answers, in just his enigmatic and irritating way. 

“And afterwards?” presses Emily. 

The man finally looks up at her, to give, apparently, his first truthful answer. 

“I think it’s time I start focusing one-hundred percent on my family,” he confesses finally, staring intently at Emily, who grudgingly gets his words after a second. 

She almost doesn’t dare to utter the name; and only, over a whisper. 

“Beth?”

Hotch nods once, fingers crossed over the desk. “We’ve been talking and we’re willing to give it another try. Now that things are. . . Quieter, for lack of a better word,” he says. Lack of a way to say that his job, one of the two things he's dedicated his whole life to, is gone now. Time to invest his time in the most important people in his life, when that other passion which occupied his soul does't belong anymore to that special place that kept him whole.

“In Hong Kong?” 

“You never know,” says Hotch, shrugging, the faintest of smiles on his lips. Proving that he’s keeping, without any exception, each and every possible door open--except for the one of his own job, apparently. A topic she’s not too keen to discuss just yet. 

“Do you even know any Chinese?” chuckles her. 

To her dismay, Hotch proves her wrong by saying a sentence in Chinese, cracking an adorable, full smile. And though she has no idea of what he’s said or if he’s said it properly, she laughs in astonishment: of course Hotch would take the time to learn the language, even if the possibility of travelling to the place is remote. She should have known. 

“A couple of things,” he explains, shyly, “just in case.” 

“Well--What about Jack?” 

“He’ll be alright,” says Hotch--just a bit too fast, without looking at her. 

Out of professional hazard, she notices his corporal language and knows she’s stepped too far on this one. This question, more than anything else she’s said so far, seems to have touched a nerve on the man. He avoids her gaze again and stands up abruptly, gathering all the folders and pens, reaching for his jacket. 

“Hotch?” she asks, just a bit concerned, raising a hand to--she doesn’t really know. Anything, to make him stop. 

He freezes as suddenly as he stood up. Head dropped, his tie falling over the couple of folders on his hands. She raises too, standing in the other side of his desk, not knowing what to do or say. She usually finds it tough to find the apropriate response and reaction towards Hotchner; now more than ever.

 “Emily,” he whispers, dragging the name, “you don’t need to worry about Jack.” 

“It was mere politeness--” 

“You have a team of your own to worry about,” he replies. “They’re your family now--what will take most of your life from now on. I’ll send this in first thing in the morning,” he says, signaling the folders he’s taking, as he goes around the table. 

“But--Hotch!”, yells Emily. “What about the rest of the team?” 

“I’ve already said my goodbyes--I wanted to see you before I left. Thanks for stopping by.” 

“Hotch,” calls her one more time, before the man leaves what was, for years, until right this second, his office, “you shouldn’t walk away. I--I don’t want you to.” 

One foot in the hall, he stops again, but ponders for some seconds if it’s worth having this conversation--again. In the end, knowing he can’t just leave like this, leave her in such a rude way, he spins around, without stepping into the office. 

“I follow my orders and right now, I’m ordered to leave my place,” he says, putting the card on the table painfully simple. “Now it’s yours.” 

“D'you think I want to take it? Because I can’t, Hotch--don't make me accept it.” 

“Emily,” he repeats and the way he pronounce her name just makes her quit what was going to be a two-minutes long ranting. 

She stares into his eyes--there’s clearly one last thing unsaid. Many possibilities run through their minds in a couple seconds--what they’d like to hear, what will truly matter at this point. Yet, the last time they’ll see each other, Hotchner’s biggest concern, as it has been for the past decade, is the future of his former fellow members. 

“Trust the team,” he says finally in a deep sigh, “they know their job. Keep them focused. Take care of them.” 

With these words, these last instructions to hold a six-member team together despite the loss of their indisputable leader, counselor and guidance, he leaves the office, the building, this life, for good, without looking again at Emily falling behind a now empty office she’s always known as Hotchner’s.


End file.
